


Touching Something Near

by greenripper (OracleGlass)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Het, Ice Play, Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OracleGlass/pseuds/greenripper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly intense job, Sophie and Eliot find their own way to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touching Something Near

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink_Bingo. Squares are Sensation Play and Bondage: Wrist Restraints.

The minute they were back from Cleveland, the team scattered. It had been a particularly intense two weeks, and frankly, most of them were sick of the sight of each other. Once you had seen Hardison in the clutches of a truly manic Mountain Dew and Cheeto high, you needed a little time to recover. So without having to say anything, the team went their separate ways for a little breathing space before the next con popped up on their radar.

Eliot comes out of the job with a bruised rib, a three-day headache, and a serious case of the surlys. He avoids the office for a few days, aware that in this mood he'd wind up saying something unforgivable to somebody if he runs across them, but he can't figure out how to fill his time with anything. His rib hurts enough to keep him out of the gym, and he can't hold his guitar without it starting to ache after a few minutes. His momma would have told him to stop acting like a bear with a sore nose, but he can't help it – he's tired of staring at his bare apartment walls. He starts taking long walks. Somehow, they always end up at Sophie's apartment door.

The first three times it happens, he shrugs it off as mindless coincidence. The fourth and fifth time it happens, he tells himself he's a damn fool, and finds the nearest pub for a beer and a game of darts. The sixth time it happens, he sighs, calls himself something rather worse than "damn fool," and knocks on her door.

She opens it with a Mona Lisa smirk on her lips, swings the door wide and tilts her chin to indicate he's to come in. She takes his jacket and lays it neatly on the back of a leather chair that's new since he's been here last. He's desperately trying to think of something to break the silence, but she does it first.

"You, my dear, look like a man in need of some loving care and attention." Her voice is light, but she's looking at him with real concern in her eyes. All this time her hands are unbuttoning his shirt, and she slides it off his shoulders, letting it drop unregarded on the floor. Eliot coughs, nervous.

"I don't know why...I'm not...uh...what did you have in mind, Soph?"

"Mmmm, I have a few ideas. Let's start with a shower, shall we? And then...well, we'll see what comes later."

He's learned by now that Sophie adores bathing, showers or long baths, it made no difference. One of the things she spent money on when she first got her apartment was a bathroom that would make a Roman whistle in admiration. He lets her shuck him out of his clothes, and he helps her out of hers, enjoying the long line of her body as she stands on one foot, then the other, to slide her panties off. The water is almost too hot to stand, and she soaps every inch of him with a thick bar that smells of rosemary and lavender – the real thing, not some chemical nonsense. She teases him a little, too, pressing wet bare breasts against his back, tracing the curve of his ass with her fingernails. The last time she bathed him, he had caught the smell of her soap on himself hours later, and had to stay put in his booth at the greasy spoon until his erection went away.

When they're done with the shower, she leans into him for a long, long kiss, aware enough of his rib so that she barely presses against him. He catches her chin in his hand, teasing her tongue with his until she's breathless and laughing.

"That'll do, Mr. Spencer. I'm supposed to be in charge tonight, I believe."

"Did we make that decision? I don't remember saying anything about it."

"I think it was implied somewhere." She waves a hand dismissively. "Besides, I don't see you complaining, do I?" She leads him, still dripping water, into the bedroom. "Lie down, there's a dear. Let me do the heavy lifting tonight." He settles down into the comforter – Sophie's sybaritic tastes ran to good mattresses and bedding – and feels tired muscles relax while she hums to herself, rooting around in a drawer for something. He's just faded into a light doze when he realizes that she's returned to the bed, and is busily tying something around his right wrist.

"Hey!" He tugs, but Sophie holds on to the other end of the silk scarf, and tsks at him. "Don't struggle, darling, you'll hurt yourself." She ties the other end of the scarf through a bar of the headboard, and walks around the bed to tie his other arm. "Tell me if this hurts you. And stop fighting me. Anyone would think you didn't want to be given splendid orgasms without any effort on your part."

Eliot stops half-heartedly tugging at the restraints, and thinks for a second. "Put it like that..." She smirks at him and ties his other wrist, and then blindfolds him with a third scarf. "There. Now, if you'll excuse me..." Sophie drifts out of the room. A minute goes by. Another minute. There are sounds of something rustling in the kitchen. Another minute, two, three pass, and Eliot starts to wonder if she ever plans to come back. "Uh, Sophie? Sophie?" His voice cracks, ever so slightly. He also discovers, to his great surprise, that he has a raging hard-on.

He hears her walk back into the room, and relaxes slightly. Her hand trails up his leg as she settles himself on the bed next to him and leans over, brushing his ear with her lips. "Your job, my dear, is to stay still and enjoy yourself while remaining absolutely silent. Think you can manage that?" He nods, and feels her huff a little laugh against his cheek. "We'll see."

The next ten minutes are a study in delicious torment. Sophie seems to be everywhere – kissing his collarbone, scraping her nails along the inside of his thighs, touching her tongue to the back of his knee. She licks his nipples, nibbles the rim of his ear. But somehow, she avoids touching his cock, which only intensifies the ache. He wriggles, but the scarves hold fast, and a twinge from his rib warns him that he can't wrestle himself free. Sophie is somewhere near his hip, kissing the hollow at the top of his thigh, so close but still so far. He bucks his hips upwards, and groans, "Sophie, goddamn it..."

"Ah! We agreed, no talking. Shush, or I'll gag you." He bites back a curse and she laughs, shifts on the bed.

"Is this what you were hoping for, my dear?" Her mouth is suddenly on his cock, sliding it between her lips, but instead of warmth he feels cold, a shocking contrast to his own heated skin. "Musta had an ice cube somewhere," he thinks muzzily, but somewhere along the line the ability to think at all disappears out the window. She takes the length of him into her mouth, teasing his balls with her nails as she does so, and he thrusts his hips upwards until they've found a sweet rhythm together. He cries out harshly, and comes, her hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him until he's empty and exhausted.

There are a few minutes that follow where all he can do is pant softly, trying to catch his breath. Sophie is untying him, easing his wrists free. Last of all comes the blindfold, and she peers down at him with a pleased expression. "Hmm, job well done, I'd call that," she says, laughter in her voice. He catches her around the waist with his good arm, and draws her down to his side, and she makes a noise like a contented cat, tucking herself up next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. Within seconds, they are both sound asleep.


End file.
